Reynolds had not yet come in, but Buttifant sat heavy-eyed in the C.I.D. room. He had a cigarette stuck to his lip and a piled ashtray at his elbow. He ducked his head and rose wearily. Gently motioned him to sit again. On the table in front of him was a scribbling pad and some pencilled-over sheets. ‘Is that about the Rogers woman?’ Gently asked. ‘Yes sir. As far as we’ve got with her.’ ‘How far is that?’ ‘Well, we’ve traced her back here, sir. But nothing after she stepped off the boat.’ ‘But she is back here?’ ‘Yes sir. Landed in May of last year. I’m waiting to make some inquiries at the magazine offices, but their staffs don’t seem to get in very early.’ ‘Compact influence,’ Gently said. ‘Where did you pick up with the Rogers?’ ‘At United Press sir, when she was working for them. They remembered about her and why she was sacked. Then we’ve traced her sailing on the Rangitane and coming back last May on the Orontes. But Worcester haven’t found her family for us, and nobody we’ve talked to yet has seen her.’ ‘You wouldn’t have a photograph of her, of course.’ Buttifant shook his head.
